


Company

by KY Lowell (TachyonStar)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 04:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TachyonStar/pseuds/KY%20Lowell
Summary: Sometimes sparring isn't even honestly about the practice. (Vergil x reader; gender neutral)





	Company

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, the first genuinely gender neutral reader insert I've been asked to write! \o/
> 
> (I'm still not great at writing Vergil. Mea culpa. Forgive me.)
> 
> Still open for requests: https://but-two-days-old.tumblr.com/post/186461623433/

There are three things that will never cease to surprise Vergil.  
  
The first is your very existence.  
The second is that you seem to _enjoy_ his company.  
And the third is that _he_ enjoys _yours_.  
  
He's enjoying it right now, in fact, as the two of you clash in the blinding rays of the sun, Yamato's keen edge almost seeming to sing as it cuts through the air and meets your own blade with a shriek of grating metal, sending sparks flying all around you. Honestly, when you two had first begun to train together, he hadn't expected much from you - fellow half-devil or no, it was all but a given that he'd trounce you soundly with very little effort - but you'd pleasantly surprised him, holding out with a tenacity he's rarely ever seen, and slowly he'd grown to realise you were _worthy_ of being his opponent, soon finding every opportunity possible to engage you in another spar just to feel that sense of _purpose_ you so easily and unconsciously give to him. (At times, he suspects you know it, too - why else would you oblige him so readily? - and yet, at others...)  
  
He's gotten distracted, he realises; he shakes off the brief reverie, sees you've fallen back to look at him with an eyebrow inquisitively raised, and the realisation that you're waiting so as not to take advantage of his mind wandering makes him feel surprisingly warm all over.  
  
He'd never admit it, but as he darts in once more, there's a smile on the corners of his lips, one that doesn't fade until--  
  
\--until you, so well-trained by his own hand, so slippery and _clever_, manage to find a chink in his figurative armour before even _he_ knows it's there, and he's not even entirely sure how exactly it happened - but he's suddenly gone to one knee, breaths coming quick and sharp, and the point of your blade is resting at his throat, the barest hint of cold metal against exertion-hot skin.  
  
It's no longer merely a smile; it's an outright grin, his sharp canines bared, and it remains even when you lower your weapon to allow him to stand again.  
  
"You have improved," he tells you, sheathes Yamato with greatest focus so that he won't be tempted to _stare_ at how you beam with utmost pride, knowing he's likely to become lost in the brilliant warmth of your eyes. "Excellent progress, ____."  
  
Your cheeks flush brilliantly pink at the compliment, so freely given, and the sound of your name on his lips; unlike him, however, you don't look away, don't try to hide it, simply running a hand through your hair to push the sweat-damp strands from your face and sheathing your own blade, smiling at him when he raises his eyes to yours again. "I got lucky, that's all--" you shrug, as if you're supposing you ought to try and be a _little_ modest about your victory, but the mischief that sparkles clear in the depths of your expression does quite ruin the effect and when he merely raises an eyebrow at you, you can't help but laugh. "Honestly, that's all it is. Thank you, though - it's nice to hear you say that."  
  
He studies you, thumbs an imagined speck of dust from Yamato's hilt and makes a quiet noise, one that perhaps would have been a derisive snort had he any less respect for you than he does - it's clear he doesn't agree with your assessment in the least, and he has good reason for it, as intimately as he knows his own skill and his own weaknesses. "Luck," he begins, briefly pauses, choosing his words carefully so as not to perhaps embarrass either one of you, "has _very_ little to do with it, if anything. You possess genuine skill - and I would advise you not to make light of that fact." He pauses again there, simply _looks_ at you for a long moment, and just when you're about to open your mouth and ask why, he lifts his hand and crooks a finger at you. "Come here."  
  
It's your turn to raise an eyebrow, and you fold your hands behind your back in practiced mock innocence as you meander casually over, head tilting just a little. "Why, what have I done now?"  
  
"Why is that always your question?" But a low tone of amusement is in Vergil's voice, and he extends that hand once you're close enough, lets it drop briefly onto your shoulder with a suspiciously _affectionate_ heaviness, pretending not to notice the blush painting itself gently across your cheeks. "I _am_ impressed," he goes on, quietly, and though he tries to hide it, you can tell he's swallowing back a flare of something awkward and it's so endearing. "As difficult as it may be to admit, I believe...soon, there will be no more I can teach you. Already, there is so _little_, and..."  
  
You look up at him as he falters, and decide you're not going to give him a chance to finish that sentence.  
  
"It doesn't _matter_," you say, firmly, pretending not to notice his surprise, reaching up to take hold of his hands and squeeze them tightly. "Answer me something, Vergil. Do you really think I only spar with you for _training_ purposes?"  
  
He blinks slowly once, a soft, vulnerable shuttering of pale lashes, shifts his eyes nervously to your hands gripping his when he can't bring himself to keep looking at your face. "What do you mean?" he manages, like he's unsure he wants to hear the answer.  
  
"I mean," you reply with a fond, exasperated smile, "_improving_ is not the main focus. I spar with you because I want to _be_ with you - to keep you company, to help you kill some time and have _fun_ while you're doing it. It isn't even about the sparring...I'd still want to spend time with you no matter what we're doing. The practice--" you shrug, shoulders squared and chin lifted a little in a posture of amused confidence he's _certain_ you must have adopted from him. "That's just a bonus."  
  
He blinks again, twice more, just as slowly, and now he can sense his own face starting to go just a bit red and it's really not helping him feel any less awkward. "You...want to keep me company," he echoes, shifts his weight minutely, nervously. "I--"  
  
"I know, I _know_. You don't _need_ company." You huff out a soft breath of a laugh, shaking your head. "But you don't get to decide for me who I spend my time with, so I'm sorry. You're stuck with me."  
  
...If he's honest, that's definitely not the worst thing he's ever heard in his life, and he ducks his head unconsciously, the flush on his cheeks growing brighter.  
  
"...Very well, then," he says finally, almost inaudibly, lets go of your hands with greatest reluctance, though he'd never admit it. "It would...do no good to protest your presence, if you are so determined."  
  
You grin, step back to size him up for a moment, and then you're reaching for your sword, kindly deciding to spare him any further embarrassment. "Great. Best two out of three, then?"  
  
And for just a fleeting moment, before he thumbs Yamato free of its sheath, you see his shoulders relax, and you know you've won this figurative battle too.


End file.
